


Feralized

by faephoric



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Horror, Short, Short One Shot, Twisted, although i don't know because descriptions of gore don't bother me, but hey if they bother you maybe don't read ok, hey it came from a twisted mind what do you expect, probably not for the faint of heart or stomach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faephoric/pseuds/faephoric
Summary: A young herbalist stumbles across something...hateful underneath Temple Isle.
Relationships: Mad Kiyan/Original Character
Kudos: 7





	Feralized

She remembered meeting him – if the way they met could even be considered a meeting. To most people, it would be considered a battle, or an aggressive confrontation – the completely avoidable start of which laid squarely on her shoulders. 

To most, the girl was an underdog; a scamp on the street, who was worth nothing more than an embittered glance – and to some, she was worth not even that. Refusing to devote her life to prostitution, servantry, or really, any type of civility at all, she spent most of her days running through the wild woods around the province of Novigrad. And so it was strange, she thought, that she found herself in the small but bustling area of Temple Isle. But sales were sales, and coin was coin. Wildling or not, she had to have some form of back-up plan, and gold was usually the best plan anyone could think of. 

Any attention that she gained walking through the streets was wholly unwanted, as always. A woman walking alone was always bound to attract this kind of attention – social status, money, appearance, it mattered not. Men would once-over any girl, and if you were lucky, that would be the end of it. But more often than not, there would be whistles, derogatory comments, the licking of lips that would make any woman wish to be wearing more clothing. 

The girl had learned to ignore it, though to say she preferred the solitude of the wilds was a vast understatement. 

When it came to be evening, she had yet to finish her selling of the many herbs, salves and creams that she had stowed away. The Preacher knew her well, and trusted her many concoctions – enough to sell them to anonymous third parties. The girl knew enough about alchemy to know what mixes relieved and what agonized, and that was enough to put gold in her pockets. 

The cold breeze that shifted through the alley they stood in was warning her. No forests laid nearby, familiar or not; nor did she wish to waste her newly-found coin on a straw bed. And so, with a nod to the Preacher, she slipped into the darkness of the alley and let her bare feet lead her forward. 

She would sleep where she always slept in this city – in a small cave, just a way down the cliff that the Isle was built upon. The moss inside was green and soft, the path down into it just hidden enough to keep her safe, the ocean just close enough to lull her to sleep. 

This time was different, however. This time, as she ventured inside, she noticed it was different. A yawning opening made the cavern seem much more spacious than before, and seemed to be beckoning her forward, though the way was dark and cold. 

* * *

She entered, of course – curiosity had always been one of her strong traits, and typically did not lead one astray unless combined with an inflated sense of strength. 

The loose stones underfoot stung her feet, but only slightly; they had toughened immensely over the years, adept at running, leaping and crawling over all manner of objects. Why purchase or craft protection for limbs that did not need protection, after all? 

The cave was dark and shadowy, with a slight turquoise undertone. The tunnel wound in further, corkscrewing ever so slightly, and finally ended in a huge, looming cavern that was clearly more man-made than natural. 

Ruins of pillars littered the room, with what looked to be once-polished and uncracked tiles visible in some areas. Stalactites hung threateningly from the ceiling, waiting for their chance to collapse. Huge arches lined the farthest wall, backlit by strange glowing blue particles. In the center, a dull stone fountain sat empty. Passages led off to either side, further into the tunnels that had remained studiously hidden under one of the biggest cities in Temeria. 

How did she _not_ know this was here? How had she missed this? Did anyone _else_ know that this was here? Surely so – the rock that had once guarded the entrance wouldn’t have disappeared on its’ own. 

She was startled by a loud groan coming from the center of the room. Squinting a tad bit more, she could see – a golem, with green runes glowing all across it in a mesmerizing flow. 

Carefully, she stepped silently to the right, hugging the walls of the cavern as she attempted to move around the golem without aggravating it. It seemed calm – surely it had not noticed her yet, for golems were not known for being calm. Though she knew she should turn about before she regretted this entire experience, she needed to know what was on the far side of the cavern, beyond the arches. 

And so, quietly clambering her way over the fallen boulders and stalagmites that lined the wall, she made it to the base of the stairs, and slowly began to climb. The golem remained silent behind her, only letting out a low huff now and then – and so she decided she would like to keep it that way. 

Reaching the top of the staircase, she finally turned her back on the golem and looked up at the source of lighting – strange gray bulbs that leaked blue light from inside. The staircase leveled out into a half-circle platform around the arches, with the other side consisting of an identical staircase. A larger flight of stairs continued up from this level, finally ending at a large wooden door reinforced with iron and hinges bigger than the girl’s head. 

She reached out, hesitantly, glancing slightly over her shoulder at the golem before placing her hand flat against the door and shoving. 

It didn’t budge – locked. 

She went absolutely still, breathing shallowly as she listened for any sign of the golem’s movement behind her. 

Nothing – good. 

A locked door having never stopped her before, she had picked it before she could convince herself otherwise, and swung it open. 

It creaked horribly – a low, agonizing groan that crescendoed at the end and echoed into the yawning space beyond. Stairs led down to a straight walkway, which ended at a cat statue against the far wall. Blank, empty darkness loomed to either side – the far side of the room was only visible due to an intricate circle of lit candles. 

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw a human shape kneeling directly in the center of the candles – his head bowed as he faced the statue, almost as if he were worshipping or praying to it. 

She stood there for what felt like a short eternity. Despite her entrance being nothing short of emphatic, he had yet to move. Not a twitch or a sigh escaped him – he was completely stone still. _Dead_ still. 

Was he? Dead? She didn’t know. For all she knew, he could have died in such a position – but wait – no. He was clearly sitting upon his knees, back held straight while his body tipped forward ever so slightly, hands on his thighs. 

She glanced around, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness on either side of the room. Although she could not see anything to the left, she noticed that the right looked like a sort of study – large bookshelves appeared to line the wall, but she could not make anything else out through the darkness. 

She glanced back at the man, who had not yet appeared to move; completely still, she vaguely wondered if he was even human. Had she stumbled across an undead? A taxidermied corpse? 

And then, ever so slightly – she would have missed it had she not been watching him – his head lifted. 

Just an inch – maybe two, if she felt like being generous. But his head _moved,_ which at least crossed out the last option. 

And so, rather than walking down the stairs to face whatever inevitable death she had already surrendered to, she chose to speak to him. 

“Hello,” she said – a voice so soft, she could barely hear it, and she feared for a moment that he had not heard her either. This worry was gone in a flash and replaced with terror when his head jolted violently sideways – head cocked, and tipped slightly sideways so that his left ear was nearer to her. 

In her surprise she had taken a half-step backward and very nearly thrown herself off balance – but just as suddenly as he had started, so he stopped. There were a few more moments of bated breath from the girl, and utter silence from the man; neither moved, both waited. 

Carefully, forcing herself to relax, the girl moved closer, still not daring to move down the stairs, and peered over the sides of the railing. 

It was indeed a study – a large dining table sat in the middle, littered with bottles and bowls. Various other, smaller tables were set seemingly haphazardly around the area, and a large cauldron sat empty against the wall closest to the girl. A filthy-looking cot was set diagonally against the far corner of the study. 

Slowly, she shifted her attention back to the man – and froze. 

In her careful studying, he had rotated his head around to follow her, so that his right ear was pointed towards her. Could he...hear her? Her movement? He must have – how else could he have known that she had moved slightly to the right? 

“How long have you been locked down here?” she whispered quietly. She feared speaking in a normal voice – the silence of the room was thick and tangible, broken only by her very presence. The almost feral tension that the man provided was warning enough – the hairs on the back of her neck were raised, her heart thudded, and her mind tore in on itself as it desperately begged to flee. But still, she would not – she would not turn away anyone in need. It was her flaw – her Achilles’ heel, reflected in her hobby of practicing soothing alchemy and healing spells. 

His head finally straightened – slowly, this time, and so contradictory to his earlier movements that it made the girl’s head spin. He turned, ever so slightly, barely a movement in his spine, and she found herself holding her breath. 

“ _Pain_ ,” he hissed, and she could hear it – oh, she could hear how it hurt him to even speak. 

“Will you let me help you?” she breathed quietly, and stepped onto the first stair. 

He made no response, instead turning his head back to his original position; completely motionless as he stared ahead. 

Second step. 

Did the tension get thicker? 

No matter, her foot was already to the - 

Third step. 

Her heart thudded harder, but she refused to leave this man locked down here, alone. 

Fourth step. 

What was wrong with her? Was she always like this? Her mind reeled, and she could smell the smoke of the candles – some sort of incense, thick and invading. 

Fifth step. 

Halfway to the sixth step, her back foot slipped, and she barely caught herself on the - 

Eighth step. 

Her heart stopped when he spoke again, and she froze, foot halfway to the ninth step. 

“ _No good. No evil. Only pain.”_

He wasn’t quite making sense, but then again, none of this did. 

Unable to keep her balance and unwilling to turn back, she leaned forward and put weight onto the - 

Ninth step. 

He tensed – a visible, full-body tense that she could see from across the room. His hands, previously relaxed upon his thighs, made fists. 

_Two more steps,_ she thought to herself. 

One step. The man threw back his head and _screamed –_ pain, agony, rage echoed throughout the room, feral instinct and guttural emotion let loose in one grieving howl, his entire body shaking and trembling as his hands fell at his sides. 

Her feet landed at the bottom of the staircase. 

What happened next was only remembered as a blur whenever she attempted to recall it in the future. 

The man stood – quickly shoving himself to his feet as he let out a low laugh that struck the girl to the core, spreading terror from her heart outward as she _finally_ came to the conclusion that this entire endeavor had been a horrible, fatal mistake. 

The man turned with the elegance of a creature educated in the ways of dancing through battle, ducking and dancing around slashing swords. His face had finally become clear to her, and her heart stopped. 

His skin was barely there, if at all – muscle and sinew exposed, with charred spots along the sides of his skull. His right eye was completely gone, a charred and empty socket glaring blindly forward. His left eye was aglow with violent red, beaming bloody aggression. Bone glittered about his midsection – practically exposed ribs, with the skin, or the layer _under_ the skin – red and raw. White muscle and bare bone laid stark against the dark crimson tone of his body as he bared his teeth in another howl – this one of complete and utter hatred; a warning ignored and now acted upon. 

She had barely a moment to take all of this in before he lunged for her, bare feet slapping the cobblestone as he barreled toward her faster than she would have thought possible. The sword that had leant against his shoulder clattered to the ground as he dropped it, apparently deducing that the girl trembling in the doorway was no threat. 

She turned and bolted back up the stairs, scrambling for the door and slamming it behind her, forgetting momentarily about the golem, who grunted sleepily at the jarring noise. 

She skittered away from the door, shoving herself up against the railing as she waited for the flayed man to burst through it. 

Nothing came. 

She slid quietly down the wall, heart hammering in terror, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Running a hand through her hair, she glanced over at the golem, who – miraculously – hadn't a care in the world, which she was utterly grateful for. 

She thanked every upper deity she knew that she was still alive, knowing that the next thing to do would be to escape back to the city and tell the witch hunters, call a witcher, or post a bounty – some way to get the word out, to eradicate the beast. 

But another part of her knew – even as she sat there, trembling and attempting to recover from the violent almost-attack – that she would return. For even as she fought off images of bared teeth, violent glowing eyes and exposed muscle, she could not quite forget the peacefulness he had first portrayed - before she had provoked him. 

He was hurt, and needed healing. 

And healers help the hurt. They heal those that need healing. 

Right? 


End file.
